


Epicureal

by Soraya (soraya2004), soraya2004



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Kinky, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/Soraya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/soraya2004
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a few other things that Rodney won't eat</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epicureal

**Author's Note:**

> Contains mild spoilers for season 4

There was a distinct clock on relationships that counted down to the inevitable end. Which didn't mean he approached relationships like they were _timebombs_ , no matter what his therapist said, _and_ despite all evidence to the contrary, since most of _his_ had somehow managed to explode on him without any warning whatsoever. This just wasn't the kind of warning he'd expected.

Crouching behind the DHD, he tried not to feel bitter about it. The Olympic-grade javelin throwers from MX5-438 were doing an _excellent_ job pointing out that his relationship with Sheppard was in serious trouble. Things hadn't _quite_ exploded yet, but with the way Sheppard kept glaring at him, he had a feeling that time was running out.

It had, after all, been six whole days— _six_ , if he excluded the other one thousand seven hundred and fifty-two days of unrequited lust bracketed by cold showers and varying degrees of penis-hand puppetry. Apparently, six days was plenty of time to have a meaningful relationship and then watch it disintegrate in a hail of spear-ridden misunderstandings.

Sheppard yelled, "McKay, when I start shooting, you run for it, okay?"

He barely had time to nod before Sheppard started laying down suppressing fire.

Ronon grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, yelling, "Move," even louder than Sheppard had yelled at him. Then, Ronon proceeded to pick him up and throw him through the gate despite his equally loud yells that they couldn't leave Sheppard out there alone.

Landing in the gateroom on his ass wasn't pleasant. It was even less pleasant when Ronon and Teyla landed on top of him shortly afterward. Then came the predictable long, tense moment of waiting before Sheppard finally came hurtling through gate like a bat out of hell, looking a little ragged around the edges but otherwise no worse for wear.

After that came the incredibly unpleasant debrief.

***

Sam had a thoughtful expression on her face as she eyed him from behind her desk. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what there was to think about! Aside from some gross embellishment and a complete and utter misrepresentation of the facts, it was all right there in Sheppard's report.

"So, let me get this straight," Sam said. "You're telling me they attacked because McKay refused to 'perform the holy rite of obeisance on sacred ground'?"

Before he could correct her, John drawled, "Yeah, that pretty much sums it up," radiating the kind of nonchalance that was miles away from the homicidal rage of MX5-438.

It still wasn't far enough for him to miss the _*tick-tock*_ look in John's eyes when John glanced at him again. That made a grand total of eleven glares in three minutes, even though he wasn't counting.

"I'm a little surprised," Sam went on, although she didn't seem to be. If anything, he thought she looked a lot like how _he_ felt: frustrated, resigned and a little bitter. "The Talesians have always been reasonable with us in the past. Weren't there any other options?"

"Yes, thank-you, Sam, my point exactly!" Rodney leapt in, feeling incredibly vindicated by that. He'd always liked Sam: she was blonde, she understood physics moderately well, and she wasn't an emotionally retarded minefield of brooding glares and stupid hair.

"We told them it wouldn't be a problem," John responded with blistering glare number twelve. "We gave them our word, only _McKay_ decided to back out at the last minute. Which kind of pissed _everyone_ off."

And by _everyone_ , Rodney _knew_ who John really meant.

"Anyway, the team made it out okay. No one's hurt. I guess it means we won't be trading with those guys any time soon." After that, John just shrugged, still radiating that casual brand of Sheppard nonchalance, like the poison-tipped spears and the running for their lives hadn't bothered him at all.

Rodney wasn't fooled for one second. He knew John far too well for that. Also, he knew himself. If he spent one more second listening to John blame him for something that wasn't his fault—something he'd told John up front that he wouldn't be able to do—he really _was_ going to lose it. "Okay, then," he said bitterly. "If there's nothing else, I'm sure the two of you have plenty of Colonel-y stuff to talk about."

He didn't wait for either of them to say anything before he stormed out of the room.

***

He managed to make it all the way to his quarters before John finally caught up with him.

"What the hell _was_ that back there?" John demanded in a threatening tone.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, really? You sure about that, buddy?"

Because the clock on their relationship hadn't counted down completely, he decided not to respond to that. There was still time; if he was smart—and he _was_ —he could still find a way to contain the damage. But when he opened the door, John followed him inside, making him realize that he was going to have to explain things. And that pissed him off even more since _he_ wasn't the one whose hearing failed whenever alien sex rituals were involved. "You know what, fine," he snapped, turning around to face John and lifting his chin. "Since you so clearly owe me an apology, I'm willing to listen. So why don't you—"

"Whoa, wait a minute," John interrupted him. "Apologize? Me?" And somehow John managed to look cold as ice whilst simultaneously looking mad as hell. "Hey, I'm not the one, who killed a trade agreement for no reason. Jesus, Rodney, it's not like we haven't blown each other before."

"Actually, we haven't!" Rodney suddenly felt compelled to point that out. "I think you'll find, if you think about it, that _we_ really haven't blown each other at all, have _*we*_?"

He put a lot of emphasis on the last 'we', far more than was sensible. But he was feeling reckless with the unfairness of it all, and for one split second he didn't care that it might aggravate the situation.

He saw the exact moment when the bomb went off.

John stared at him with a look of utter disbelief. One finger went up and started pointing at him accusingly. "That's right," John gasped. "It _has_ pretty much been one way traffic, now that you mention it! What the hell is up with that, Rodney?"

"Honestly?"

"I think I deserve the truth!"

"Fine," Rodney muttered, and he glared at John pointedly until John moved that finger away from his face. "I don't like sperm."

"What?"

"The taste of it," he explained. "I don't like sperm."

John still looked confused. "You don't like sperm?"

Rodney nodded; hadn't he said that already? "Look, obviously I don't have a problem with sperm per se, because I'm a man and I have lots of sperm. Lots of great, supremely intelligent sperm in fact, all of whom are excellent swimmers." He threw that in to avoid any further misunderstandings since John _still_ had that weird look on his face. "I just don't like the taste of it; I never have, and I never will. So whilst you'll find that I'm willing to be relatively adventurous in bed, _that_ —" he waved vaguely in the direction of John's groin "—is not coming anywhere near my mouth."

John scowled, scrunching up his forehead in a way that looked disturbingly cute for a man, who was so plainly pissed off. "You could have told me," John said after a while.

Now, Rodney did some disbelieving staring of his own. "I _did_ tell you! Several times, in fact. But apparently _you_ suffer from a severe case of alien sex ritual deafness."

"Rodney—"

"Don't," he snapped, causing John to flinch. "You should probably see Keller about that, by the way. It could be a problem."

He wasn't sure what to make of the look John gave him then. All the classic Sheppard defences were back in place, so he couldn't quite tell how John was taking things. Deep down, part of him just didn't want to know, especially if it meant not having to prolong _this_ conversation.

In the end, when John walked away without saying another word, he actually felt a little relieved.

***

John took it well, he thought, in that John only went on to avoid him for three days straight whilst also giving him looks, which John undoubtedly thought were brooding, but which in fact looked kind of demented and only vaguely sexy. Then came the mission where John decided to avoid him indefinitely by going forty-eight thousand years forward in time, and where _he_ apparently threw himself into a doomed relationship, which had no sperm-tasting potential whatsoever, before spending the rest of his life trying to get John back.

But, all things considered, he thought John was taking the blowjob embargo surprisingly well!

***

It turned out he was wrong.

Having Ronon point _that_ out felt like having insult piled on top of injury, particularly since Ronon's approach focused more on the injury part of the equation.

"What did you do to Sheppard?"

"Nothing," Rodney insisted, still clawing at the arm that had him pinned to the gym floor. "What makes you think I've done anything?" He tried wriggling harder, but Ronon's hold didn't ease up.

"Sheppard's acting weird again. He's talking a lot and training more; he only does that when something's up with you."

Rodney wasn't sure what to say, so for once he bit his tongue.

"Also, you've _stopped_ talking," Ronon pointed out with the sort of relish that, quite frankly, Rodney didn't appreciate.

"You don't have to sound so happy about that," he snapped.

"You've got to take life's pleasures where you can find them." Ronon shrugged, leaving his flank exposed. So he punched hard and managed to break away, making Ronon's eyes widen with surprise. "Been training too, huh, McKay?"

"Something like that!" Rodney sniffed, lifting his chin. "Or maybe I'm a lot better at this than you think."

Ronon simply raised one eyebrow before spending the next twenty minutes demonstrating to him how, actually, he wasn't. At the end of it, bent double trying to catch his breath, he wheezed, "Okay, okay, you've made your point!"

"Good," said Ronon. "Maybe you'll work out more from now on."

"Yes, like _that's_ going to happen!" Still wheezing, he tried to wave Ronon off because sweating and running and getting beaten to within an inch of his life were _so not right up there_ on his list of priorities. Unfortunately, Ronon didn't magically disappear the way he'd hoped and instead Ronon proceeded to loom over him as he slumped his way gracelessly down to the floor. On any other day, the scrutiny wouldn't have bothered him so much. But today he felt a little unsettled without John there in the room for moral support, and something about the expression on Ronon's face made him nervous. "Oh God, what is it now?" he moaned.

"Nothing!" Ronon shrugged, looking quite baffled. "I just never figured _you_ would be Sheppard's type! Guess it's all down to taste, huh?"

"Taste? _Excuse me_?" he yelled at Ronon, outraged.

But since Ronon had apparently finished dispensing his observations for the day, the only answer _he_ got was the sight of Ronon launching into a complicated series of katas, which consisted of beating the crap out of thin air.

***

One of the traits of genius was the ability to make astonishing leaps of insight from random threads of information. So, although Ronon's parting shot had bruised somewhat, it did get him thinking.

_It's all down to taste . . .._

"Oh my God!" Rodney leapt up, clicking his fingers. Was the answer really that simple?

The theory suggested it was, and clearly _he_ wasn't the only person who thought so, if the bizarre conversation he'd heard years ago in 'Tavern on the Green' was anything to go by. At the time, he hadn't given it much thought beyond the instinctive revulsion and several frantic pleas to the Maitre'd for a different table. Now, though, the possibilities seemed endless.

On his way to the labs, he thought about the sheer variety of food available in two galaxies, and for once the task ahead didn't seem daunting, it felt like a lifeline. That woman in New York had said _she'd_ managed to improve the taste of her boyfriend's sperm by feeding him peppermint and pineapple. So maybe it really _was_ that simple! The human body functioned like any machine where inputs affected the outputs; maybe all he really needed to do was find the right combination of food to make John's sperm, well, if not palatable then at the very least bearable.

At this stage, he was willing to try anything if it helped their relationship last longer.

He didn't want to admit it, but Ronon's comment bothered him. He'd never really asked himself _why_ John was with him in the first place, and the idea that he wasn't the obvious choice sent a weird sort of panic clawing through his stomach. There were enough strains in their relationship from DADT and trying to stay alive; the last thing he needed now was for sex to drive them apart. He just hoped he could come up with a plan to stop that from happening.

***

In the end, he _did_ manage to come up with something. It involved bugging Simpson's _girls' night get-togethers_ , then several hours of research, because apparently finding information on the topic was easy; finding the right kind of information was impossible.

The Internet had thousands of articles on 'ways to make semen taste better'. None of them, however, provided much in the way of verifiable data, nor could anything on the Internet shed light on how food indigenous to the Pegasus galaxy affected the taste of human sperm.

He wasn't sure where that left him in practical terms. Pegasus didn't exactly have a Wal-Mart, where he could stock up on pineapples whenever he wanted to. And even though the Daedalus made regular trips between galaxies, they still had to trade with other planets for supplies. Which invariably meant eating things like 'Tata Root' and a whole host of other foods that no one on Earth had even heard of.

All of which put him in uncharted territory.

Of course, he knew what he _wanted_ to do. The logical next step was to run tests and then build data sets of his own including quantities as well as timeframes. But he also knew that if he went down that path, he would have to tread very carefully. John wasn't exactly a man of science, so he couldn't count on a natural thirst for knowledge to see them through this.

Even basic tests would require stealth and cunning—things he usually relied on John for. Still, he didn't see that he had much of a choice. It was either find a solution or risk John slipping away from him in degrees; and _that_ was one option he flat out refused to consider.

***

Later, mapping test parameters, Rodney started to feel like he was finally getting somewhere.

Most of his plan now hinged on the common misconception that scientists knew little about covert operations and that _he_ was one of the most clueless. He wasn't happy about having to rely on stereotypes—especially since, in _his_ case, they were ridiculous and completely untrue—until he managed to take control of Atlantis's kitchens through a mixture of blackmail, blatant threats and screaming. _Then_ he found it incredibly satisfying.

From there, almost everything else fell into place. The cooks got new menus to work with, and he got his testing protocols in place; he also built in repeats and controls to make sure his findings were valid and replicable.

The only thing he hadn't figured out was how he was going to get semen samples from John on a daily basis.

He still felt confident that he could pull it off, even though the _*you came back from the future, let's have sex*_ part of his plan would probably only work for three, maybe four days at best. Certainly not the _thirty-seven_ he needed to draw any sensible conclusions about Pegasus food groups. _Then_ there was the problem of actually _running_ the taste tests without John figuring out what he was up to.

But achieving the impossible was something of a habit now. This, he told himself, was going to be nothing compared to that.

***

At precisely 01:17 hours on Day One of testing, he managed to break in to John's quarters. Inching his way toward the unmistakable John-shaped lump on the bed, he thought: _So far, so good!_ All he had to do now was—

"Lose something, Rodney?"

John's voice stopped him right there in his tracks. He tried not to look guilty as John rolled over to face him. Having planned to get a little further than the desk, he really didn't have a good explanation for what he was doing there, especially since he and John hadn't spent that much time together lately. "Okay, if you must know, I had to see you," he blurted out.

"Now?" John sat up. "Couldn't it wait till—oh, I don't know— _the morning_?" And in the starlight filtering through those ridiculous glitter curtains John loved so much, the expression on John's face looked kind of scary.

Rodney didn't let that deter him. "It's important," he insisted. "It's about us, John. We need to talk."

He saw the way John flinched then, a sort of glancing recoil that wiped all trace of expression from John's face. And because he knew only had seconds before John threw him out, he said, "Look, I'm sorry, okay? And I was wrong. You know, about that thing with the Talesians? I could probably have handled that better."

"Wait a minute!" John stared at him incredulously. " _You're_ sorry, _and_ you were wrong?"

Rodney nodded; it was too hard to say it another time.

"Holy crap, I must be dreaming," he heard John mutter before John gave him a despairing look. "So, let me guess: you sneaked in here to wake me up with sex, because you're sorry _and_ you were worried about me, since you accidentally sent me thousands of years into the future without noticing I was gone?"

Rodney nodded again, amazed that _that_ plan had sounded so much better in his head. "Listen, John, I—"

"Go to bed, Rodney," John cut him off. "We'll talk in the morning, I promise. But for now, just go to bed! _Please_? _Go to bed_!"

" _Okay_ ," he snapped, not sure why John had felt the need to tell him that three times. Still, in the interests of relationship make-up sex, he was prepared to ignore the insult to his intelligence.

Quickly, he stripped out of his clothes and climbed into bed with John, a little surprised at how well things were going. He'd been expecting John to put up more of a fight. In fact, John's T-shirt and boxers gave him more trouble, mostly due to John's uncooperative wriggling, but even _they_ were easy enough to dispense with once he put his mind to it. All through, though, he could hear John talking to him, no doubt saying something he should have been listening to, but the sight of John’s mouth kept distracting him.

He'd always loved John's mouth: the shape of it, the way it moved when John spoke, and that lush lower lip that dipped in the middle, practically begging him to suck on it. God, he hadn't done that in days!

Giving in to temptation, he leant down to brush his lips against John's, trying to fit their mouths together, only John just seemed to freeze up underneath him.

" _What_?" He pulled back a little, stung.

"You know, when I told you to go to bed, I kind of meant yours," John murmured, looking exasperated and amused at the same time.

" _Oh_!" Rodney pulled back even further. "Well, that's—" His heart plummeted; apparently he'd been right first time about how difficult this was going to be. "So, you want me to leave? Because I could—"

John smacked him upside the head, before fisting a hand in his hair to draw him back down.

And, okay, _that_ he could work with, Rodney thought, mouth suddenly full of John's tongue. And he stroked _his_ tongue along John's, tangling them together before drawing back a little, listening to the ragged sounds John made as he caught John's lower lip gently between his teeth and then sucked on it slowly. The grip on his hair eased up then, letting him angle his head into it, letting him sink into deep, long kisses that had John writhing underneath him. But when John started grinding up against him, hands roaming all over his body, he had to tear his mouth away, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"I've missed you," he admitted quietly, arching helplessly into the hands stroking down his chest. "So much, John, I . . .." He trailed off as John's thumbs brushed over his nipples, circling them very slowly. And it felt so good, so unbelievably good that he had to rest his head on John's shoulder for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

"Missed you too," John breathed in his ear. "Just— _fuck_ , would you get up here?"

Leaning up, Rodney pressed their mouths together, losing himself again in John's taste and John's scent and the feel of John's skin brushing against his. Until, suddenly, _John_ was the one twisting away, reaching to one side and rummaging in the dark.

"John?" he whispered, a little confused. He'd barely finished that thought when John grabbed his hand and started slicking his fingers up for him.

"Inside me," John told him breathlessly. " _Now_ , Rodney," John growled, eyes dark with some emotion he was too turned on to understand.

Instead of trying to, he let John guide his hand down between them, drawing his other hand up to John's nape and cupping it there, holding John steady as John hitched up for him. Then gently, very gently, he worked two fingers into John, watching John's eyes slowly drift shut.

"Okay?" he asked, pressing in deeper.

John nodded up at him, settling back, clenching down.

And the feel of that nearly broke him, because he _needed_ to come _now_ and he was barely hanging on, trying to make it good for John. He shifted a little closer, looking for a better angle, and he knew he'd found it when John curled up all of a sudden and clutched at his shoulders, shuddering.

"There?" he whispered, dragging his fingers over that sensitive knot of nerves, listening to John struggle for air. "Tell me," he did it again, feeling John writhe into it. And he kept rubbing that spot, deliberate and slow, watching sweat roll down the side of John's face.

"I-it's—" John stuttered, feet scrabbling on the bed.

And suddenly his control snapped. He pulled his fingers out of John, then pressed himself straight in. And he knew he wasn't gentle about it; God, he couldn't be gentle any more as he rocked in and in and in, driving himself into tight, wet heat. 

But John just gasped, " _Harder_ ," gripping him inside tighter and tighter, heels digging in to his lower back.

So, he curled over and kept pounding into John, feeling John's come splash against his stomach, smearing it between them until he pushed deep one last time and then hung there, coming in long pulses and shivers that rolled through his entire body.

After that, he licked some of the fluid off John's chest, making what mental notes he could in his blissed out state. Then, he put his head down on John's shoulder, too tired to move much further. Underneath him, John still seemed a bit dazed—enough not to stop himself from smiling stupidly for two whole minutes.

Rodney had a feeling that meant he'd been forgiven.

***

Day Two of testing went a lot smoother now that he was in a relationship where sex was officially 'back on'. Although, it did mean having to put up with John's ego-boasts that _his hot physicist boyfriend_ was all over him. Rather than disabuse John of that notion, which was disturbingly not that far from the truth, he used it to his advantage to press ahead with his testing. He just wished John could be a little less smug about his insatiable need for sex.

Evidently, there was _always_ a price to pay in the interests of furthering science.

In spite of that, the pioneer in him was still up for the challenge. So, every morning and every evening for the next few days, he fucked John through several long, drawn out, full-body-trembling orgasms, gathering data and meticulously cataloguing his results. By the end of Day Five, he had a working baseline and was well on the way to rating several variants of the Athosian tuber root family. Also, that dopey grin seemed to be plastered permanently on John's face. Which gave _him_ something to feel decidedly smug about.

He carried that feeling with him until Day Six, where one of John's scheduled play dates with Ronon threw him out of his carefully crafted routine.

"Please tell me you're joking," he groaned, sitting up and staring at John blearily. It was still dark; he could barely think straight, but his eyes really _were_ telling him that John was darting round the room searching for his clothes. "But it's Sunday! We don't have to be up for hours!"

"I promised Ronon," John told him, as if that was a good enough reason for getting out of bed at this ungodly hour.

"Fine," he muttered, giving up. "Go chase Ronon through Atlantis, if it makes you happy."

John, at least, had the grace to look a bit sheepish as he pulled on his sweats. "Rain-check?"

"Maybe." Rodney folded both arms across his chest. "If you're lucky."

He couldn't help noticing then how John sauntered out, smirking with the confidence of a man, who'd been getting lucky a lot recently, and who, on that basis, knew an empty threat when he heard one.

It made him wonder if he was getting predictable—if _John_ found him too predictable. He'd always suspected that he wouldn't be able to rest on his laurels during his testing regime; _this_ , however, felt like a warning. John had a tendency to get bored easily; and unless he wanted _that_ to happen, he had a feeling he needed to shake things up fast.

***

Faced with that prospect, Rodney took a good look at his overall plan in line with his risk mitigation strategy, the first stage of which was to run some tests in the _afternoon_ instead of the morning. Ultimately, he knew this might mean venturing into the realms of kinky sex in semi-public places, but he hoped it wouldn't come down to that. Aside from the probability of getting caught, and the impact to John's career, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of anyone else seeing John naked and turned on.

The more he thought about it, 'simple' seemed like a good place to start. And in the end, he went with luring John down to an abandoned lab after lunch—to check out some Ancient technology, he said. And while John was staring at what was probably nothing more than a _door-key_ , he stepped up behind John, peered over John's shoulder and oh so casually slid one hand round and down between John's legs.

" _Rodney_ —"

"Ah, ah, _ah_!" He wrapped his other arm around John's waist, not letting him get away. "You promised me a rain-check, remember?"

"Well, yeah!" John shrugged, leaning back against him. "But I _thought_ we came down here to find new gizmos!"

The complaint sounded half-hearted and weak. So he kept undoing John's BDUs at the front, enough to draw John out with one hand. "We'll get to that soon," he whispered, wrapping his fingers around John's cock, stroking away the last glimmers of resistance.

And since he didn't want to seem predictable, he spent a very long time jerking John off, taking John up to the edge before backing him off slowly again and again. On the next climb up, John's head fell back onto his shoulder. Then, John started begging, "Oh God, just let me— _please_ , Rodney—" right into his neck before slumping against him all of a sudden and just _losing_ it in thick, wet spurts that dripped slowly through his fingers.

While John was still gasping, Rodney stole a quick taste off his thumb. Moments later, 'Tata Root' became a firm candidate for the Atlantis menu blacklist.

That he literally had to hold John up for three whole minutes also felt like the best kind of progress.

***

He left those labs riding an entirely new wave of smugness. Only to have it ripped away from him again by the massive problem he hit on Day Seven, when John crawled into bed with him, nuzzled under his jaw and mumbled something that sounded horribly like: "Can I fuck you tonight?"

" _What_?" Rodney squeaked, praying he'd heard that wrong.

Suddenly, John's face felt very hot against his throat. But John kept on nuzzling him, somehow still managing to project that air of *Big Horny Top*.

And, oh God, he _had_ heard that correctly!

Because he couldn't see a way out of it without making John suspicious, he got on all fours, feeling quite resentful about his data points, and trying to come up with some way to either extrapolate or re-run his scheduled tests for the week. Which were, quite frankly, ruined now. And why the hell had John picked _this_ month of all months to try out topping?

Only, it turned out that when John said, 'Can I fuck you?' what he'd _actually_ meant was: *Can I eat you out slowly, so slow and so deep that I'll drive you crazy, destroying millions of incredibly important brain cells in the process while you kneel there trying not to scream it's so good. Maybe _then_ I'll fuck you!*

And as he knelt there squirming, letting John eat him out steadily, _relentlessly_ , he could hardly breathe. It was so intense—so _intimate_ —with John crouched behind him, licking into him, sending those sweet bursts of pleasure skittering along his nerves . . . he didn't think he could take much more without going crazy.

John stroked one hand down his side, before drawing it round to play with his nipples, making him collapse with the overload of sensation. And he didn't realize he'd actually tried to get away until John caught him mid-crawl and then hauled him right back, mumbling soothing sounds into his waist.

Still writhing, he gasped, "It's too—I _need_ —" not sure where he was trying to go any more. But soon he really _couldn't_ run, because John yanked his hips up and pushed his shoulders down, moving him back into position.

All he could feel then was John spreading him open again, whispering, "Please, Rodney, _please_ ," in a way that sounded absolutely wrecked.

So, he just clutched at his sheets and let John take what he wanted, trying to stay on his knees for it, trying to stay upright through every wet, slow rasp of John's tongue.

When his arms gave way again, he slumped forward and shoved his face in a pillow, breathing in ragged sobs while John kept holding him open and tasting him slowly. And when John pressed his tongue deep inside him, he bit down hard, trying to stifle the broken sounds he couldn't stop making as each slick, deep stroke flooded his stomach with heat, winding that coil of pleasure tighter and _tighter_. Until, suddenly, it just snapped, leaving him spurting helplessly onto his bed.

John finally eased up a little, so he turned his face to one side, panting, using his cheek to smooth the teeth marks he'd left in the pillow. There was nothing he could do about the massive pool of come soaking the sheets beneath him. Absolutely nothing at all.

Another minute went by before he noticed John petting him on the back in a way that, quite frankly, seemed concerned.

"You okay in there?" John asked him, hands circling gently. "Come on, Rodney, talk to me! Give me something to work with!"

His voice sounded strained, a little wispy even.

Which was understandable, Rodney thought in a rare moment of charity. Of course, _he_ responded with a perfectly intelligible: "Mmmfnnghd!" Although, the arm he tried to wave along with that statement didn't quite make it off the bed.

 _Now_ John sounded suspiciously like he was laughing.

"Fwaaa . . .?" Rodney huffed. Indignation alone made him lift his arm one whole inch.

But John seemed more interested in cupping his ass with both hands, then biting each cheek softly before mouthing a trail up the length of his spine. "You're incredible, you know that, right?" John told him, reaching his nape and pressing several more kisses there.

And even though he _did_ know that, it still felt nice to be appreciated, especially in bed.

It felt even better sliding his pillow underneath him, onto the wet spot, hearing the appreciative sounds John made as his ass sat up higher. After that, he was so relaxed he just let it happen, arching into slick fingers that slid in and eased out of him, spreading his thighs further apart for John to kneel between them.

"You ready?" John whispered, lining up behind him.

"Mmmm," he answered, feeling John press forward, no longer bothered about ruined tests as John sank in all the way and then started grinding into him, hips circling and bucking in a rhythm that was building faster and faster and—

His genius came back online, making him yell: "Don't come inside me!"

"Wha—?" John stuttered to a stop.

"I didn't say stop!" Rodney yelled again, rocking his ass back against John to make that point clear. "I said: *Don't come inside me!* When you're close, I want you to pull out and come on my back. Okay?"

He was still talking, still a little concerned that John's sex-addled brain couldn't parse simple instructions, when John hunched over and started pounding into him deep and hard, drenching him with pleasure, hands gripping his shoulders tight to hold him up there for it. And he wasn't sure which of them was more surprised when _he_ started shuddering and clenching down uncontrollably, spraying come all the way up to his chin.

" _Jesus_ , Rodney," John gasped, sounding broken, almost _gone_.

Then John pushed him flat on the bed and bucked into him hard, making him feel it in every nerve while he clawed his hands across the sheets, fighting to take it for long, long seconds, before John pulled out of him, cock sliding and spurting through the globes of his ass, spurting all over his back.

***

Afterwards, with John curled over him panting into his nape, Rodney wasn't quite sure what to think. He could feel John's come trickling down his spine. He had a horrible feeling some of it had landed in his hair!

"Okay," John managed to wheeze. "So, _that_ was different!"

"No, _really_?" Rodney croaked.

Heaving John off him, he eased himself out of bed, still a bit shocked by how much John had seemed to get off on that. Only, there wasn't much he could do about it now. Since _he'd_ been the one to open the door, he could hardly blame John for sprinting through it.

Surreptitiously, he swiped some semen off his back, taking several licks to analyse its taste. By the time he was done, John had rolled onto one side and was now giving him what, for John, was a meaningful look.

Rodney didn't know what it meant.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" John asked him.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he said, technically not lying.

The look in John's eyes went ever so slightly _*tick-tock*_.

"Oh my God, _fine_ ," he added quickly, because he really didn't need to deal with a pissed off John right then. All he wanted was a shower, maybe a bubble bath as well—anything to work the stiffness out of his back. "I'm working on something, and it's kind of a surprise. So, just give me a couple of weeks, and I'll tell you all about it."

John frowned, looking even more suspicious. But since John didn't say anything else, he decided not to push his luck, taking the opportunity instead to flee into the bathroom, where he absolutely did _not_ hide until John had gone to sleep.

***

On Day Eight, a clear and distinct pattern seemed to emerge in that any food with the word 'root' in it was a definite *no*. Also, it turned out that having sex in a puddlejumper mid-flight was a terrifying experience, because the jumper responded to John's mood by doing crazy Immelman half-rolls right when John came.

***

On Day Nine, after dinner, after John had finished 'topping from the bottom', he let John sit there slumped on top of him, trying to catch his breath. Until John decided to mumble: "Look, I get it: you're trying to compensate. But it's fine. Really, I'm okay with it now!"

Rodney promptly shoved him off. " _Compensate_?" he shrieked into the afterglow.

"Mmmm!" John scooted back and curled up to him like a dog, clearly not noticing that he was _this_ close to having an aneurysm.

 _He didn't need to compensate for anything in bed!_ He was an excellent lover. One, who was simply running an experiment—a secret experiment, which certain people couldn't know about, hence the secrecy! That was all!

Unless, subconsciously, John really _had_ thought he'd needed to compensate for something? The idea of which threw him far more than he was ready to admit.

He found glaring down at John didn't help with that at all, since it only left him feeling irritated and strangely more fond of the man. John was unpredictable, impossible to run tests on, so completely wrong about everything and— _already fast asleep_. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't bother. In fact, it was almost not worth the effort he was going through, he grumbled to himself.

Almost, he sighed a few minutes later as he watched John's eyelids flutter.

***

After lunch on Day Ten, Rodney followed some weird power fluctuations down to an abandoned weapons room, where it transpired that John was lying in wait, and where John also proceeded to fuck him and come on his back without any kind of prompting whatsoever.

He wasn't sure if this was some sort of artistic license on John's part or whether it was the birth of a new bad habit. Either way, it got him a sample he could use; he just would have preferred to have been consulted first.

***

There was no Day Eleven, nor were there any Days Twelve through to Seventeen. John got dosed off-world with a viral nerve toxin, which left him in the infirmary fighting for his life, and Rodney spent most of the week at John's bedside, doing a terrible job of not panicking.

Seeing John hooked up and helpless shook all his foundations. There were machines to help John breathe, drips to feed him, and people to turn him. Even with the worst that Pegasus threw at them, John had never seemed so vulnerable.

"He'll be okay, right?" he asked Keller one evening, trembling and scared. "I mean, he has had worse things happen to him than this, like life-sucking bugs and retro-viruses, and he has always managed to pull through before. So, he'll be okay, right?"

The look of compassion in her eyes made him feel naked and raw, and it let him know just how much he'd revealed with those questions. He tried not to read anything into the fact that she patted him on the shoulder without giving him any of her usual assurances.

***

What would have been Day Eighteen happened to coincide with John rolling over, ejecting some sort of slimy green substance from his ears and then rasping, "Damn, that felt weird," before falling right back asleep.

Keller assured him that this was progress, but he didn't quite believe her, since the slime started glowing as soon as it hit the air. In _his_ expert medical opinion, that was never a good sign. By the end of the day, though, John did look marginally better, and was breathing almost entirely by himself. Still he knew he wouldn't relax completely until John was back to his usual slouchy annoying self.

***

It took several more days before Keller discharged John as 'fit for duty'. And in that time, Rodney persisted in annoying the infirmary staff by pressing for every minute detail about John's recovery. Mostly, he did this to reassure himself that John was getting better. But another part of him _knew_ John enjoyed watching him torture the people, who were holding him hostage. So he also did it for the fond smiles John gave him every time he went off on one of his voodoo medicine rants.

When they reached John's quarters, though, all his bravado melted away.

He stood there in desperate fascination while John went through the mundane routine of getting ready for bed. And he wasn't sure exactly when he decided to move. Only there came a point where he couldn't stand the distance any more and he _had_ to wrap himself around John, holding on tight, pressing his face into John's neck so he could breathe him in.

"Hey, it has been a while, huh?" John murmured, though his casualness seemed a little forced.

Rodney moaned a vague response into John's neck, feeling wrung out and twisted up inside. He knew he was blowing this spectacularly. He was supposed to be making insults about John's ear-vomiting weirdness or his gravity-defying hair, but the pain of watching John _almost die again_ was still too raw. All he wanted to do right then was to touch John. On the neck, the chest, the stomach— _anywhere_ he could reach. And John seemed to understand how much he needed this, because John stayed right there, letting him do whatever he wanted.

Eventually, his hand drifted a little lower, and he curled it up between John's legs, stroking John off fast and hard until John came shivering and spurting all over his fingers.

Afterwards, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to lick his come-stained hand clean.

***

Later, lying next to John, Rodney thought about the future, letting the warmth from John's body drive away the cold that had settled into him over the past few weeks.

He didn't care that his experiment was wrecked, he still had John. And in terms of his priorities, that was Number One. But he had a slew of other things to worry about now, because if he was going to _do this thing_ —and he was already planning when and how—then, like everything else, he needed to make sure he did it well.

***

Having John turn him down was _not_ part of his plan. Especially since he'd made his offer on the back of a very dull mission off world—arguably the perfect time to initiate post mission wind-down sex. Beyond that, the rejection made no sense to him at all, because John was a man, who liked getting blowjobs. Blowjobs _he_ was now perfectly willing to give!

"What the hell is the matter with you? Suddenly, you don't want me to blow you any more?"

"That's not what I meant," John said, still undoing his jacket. "I just don't want you to _feel_ like you have to blow me if you don't really want to blow me."

"But I just said I wanted to blow you!" Rodney snapped, making John whirl round to glare at him.

"Rodney, you don't like sperm! You remember that conversation, don't you? The one about my dick not coming anywhere near your mouth?"

"Yes, yes, I remember," he admitted impatiently. "Though I think you may have over-simplified that last part." When John _didn't stop_ glaring at him, he said, " _What_? Fine! So, I've changed my mind. But that's a good thing, right?"

"Rodney," John went on in that _*I'm trying to be patient with you*_ tone, "there's more to blowing a guy than worrying about how his sperm's going to taste. Hell, if it were _that_ simple, I could wear a condom, or just pull out before the end and come on your—"

"Wait a minute!" Rodney cut in, stunned. "Is _that_ what you want? You know, with the—" he waved vaguely at his face, because he couldn't quite bring himself to say the words.

"No!" John gasped with extra head-shakes and emphatic finger-pointing. But he still looked guilty and incredibly turned on by the idea; and Rodney knew he had him.

"You _like_ coming all over me, don't you?" he said triumphantly. "Which is fine," he added once John started fiddling with his thigh-holster, looking _anywhere_ but at him. "In fact, I'm strangely okay with that," he murmured, thinking about how much John seemed to get off on it. "Just not all the time, okay? And preferably when I _don't_ have to walk halfway across the city to take a shower! Still, that's not what we're talking about here. So, stop trying to change the subject!"

John snorted with laughter, a sound full of hysteria, before rubbing the back of his neck in a distracted way.

Rodney could see his hands were shaking.

Most of it he put down to John's aversion to discussing 'his feelings'. But there was another part, which told him to keep going—a part, which flared bright hot in John's eyes as he stepped up close. And he didn't always get that John wanted him in the _*face flushed*_ , _*palms sweating*_ , _*can't concentrate when you're near me*_ sort of way. Because he'd never expected to have that kind of an effect on anyone, let alone someone as complicated as _John Sheppard_. But, God help him, he _got_ it now! And he _loved_ that the most mundane things about him could apparently make John tremble. And he certainly wasn't above using that to his advantage, if that was what it would take to get them through this.

"John, I want to do this for you," he said, watching John swallow convulsively. "And you know I never do anything I don't want to do." He mentioned that because John seemed to have some weird ideas about him acting selflessly. "Besides, I wouldn't lie to you about something like this. You do know that, right?"

"I guess," John responded with mild shrug. "I just don't want you to feel like I've pressured you somehow, or that we're going too fast to places you're not comfortable with."

"Okay, that's good," Rodney said, a bit relieved in all honesty. "I mean, of course we can work up to the— _you know_ —some other time." He waved at himself again, feeling his heart melt at the shy smile on John's face. "But right now, really? I just want to suck you off."

"Oh, you do, huh?" John murmured, eyes gleaming with warmth.

"Yes!" Rodney nodded. "Yes, I really do."

 _Now_ the gleam in John's eyes turned predatory, making his breath catch all of a sudden.

He could tell John was imagining what it would be like to finally slide into him—to slide over his tongue and down his throat. And God, he wanted that too. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have John come in his mouth, so wrecked he would literally have to hold John up.

"So, can I . . . today?" he croaked as John brought both hands up to cup his face, rubbing a thumb gently at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, today's good," John told him throatily, thumb drawing back and forth over his lower lip now, until he opened for it and let John in, letting John stroke slowly over his tongue.

"Rodney," John whispered, rough and low.

And, oh God, that 'hands shaking' wanting thing definitely worked both ways.

He dropped to his knees, fumbling John free from his BDUs, very conscious of John's hands moving to his nape and the fingers slowly stroking him there. But they didn't push, and John didn't guide his actions, letting him rub his cheek in soft curling hair before gently urging him back.

"You sure about this?" John asked, still giving him a way out.

But there was no way he could take it now even if he'd wanted to. "Please," he said, "I _need_ this." And it was so much easier to admit that with the plump head of John's cock nudging at his lips. He wanted to taste it, he wanted to feel that weight sliding over his tongue. So he opened his mouth and licked slowly across the tip, letting John's taste flow across his tongue.

" _Jesus_ ," John whispered, before pushing in hard, like he just couldn't help himself.

And somewhere between John sliding in deep and working his throat open, Rodney realized he _could_ do this, and that he _liked_ doing it, and that he had no idea why he'd waited this long. By the time John bottomed out inside him, he was so turned on he was moaning around John's cock, hips bucking helplessly into thin air.

John backed off for a moment to let him breathe, panting, "Easy, Rodney, just take it easy," when he tried to get at John again.

But he'd had of enough waiting, because he _needed_ this now. So he wrapped both arms around John's hips and held John there, swallowing John all the way down before easing off again.

John staggered up against him, hips shifting restlessly. And John, when he glanced up, was breathing very hard. He didn't give John any time to recover before he stroked his tongue right under the head of John's cock, loving the wide-eyed look of amazement John gave him when he swallowed all the way down again.

"Son of a bitch!" John gasped, clutching his shoulders now for support.

And Rodney kept bobbing his head, feeling John's thighs tremble under his hands, licking and sucking at that sensitive stretch of skin until finally John's knees gave way.

"I'm going to come," John warned him raggedly. Which only made _him_ suck harder. And when John sobbed, "Rodney, just—oh, _God_ —" hands tightening on his shoulders, he braced himself, thinking he knew what to expect.

Nothing, though, prepared him for the sensual feel of having John come inside his mouth.

The first few spurts hit the back of his throat, making him swallow instinctively, he couldn't help it. And he stroked his hand over the muscles clenching and quivering in John's stomach, flicking his tongue over John's slit to get himself another spurt.

Above him, John shuddered, grunting something he couldn't make out, before pushing even deeper, sliding both hands into his hair. And when he licked right under the head of John's cock, John rewarded him with another thick spurt, this time right on his tongue, legs trembling so hard now he _had_ to prop John up just to keep him standing. One more lick and John curled over him, _whining_. And they stayed like that for a long time, with John clutching the back of his shirt while _he_ bobbed his head slowly, milking John through those final shuddering spurts.

He probably would have stayed there on his knees even longer, if John hadn't pulled out once his cock stopped spurting—if John hadn't tackled him to the ground, whispering, " _God_ , I can't get enough of you," still trembling, hands running all over him, snapping him out of the trance he'd fallen into.

"I need," he whispered, writhing up desperately.

"Yeah, come on, I've got you," John told him, pushing one thigh between his legs, giving him friction so perfect his eyes rolled back in his head.

And he came like that with John's taste in his mouth, arching and shuddering and grinding up against John's thigh.

When it was all over, John smiled down at him, looking unbelievably smug. "So, you kind of liked blowing me, huh?"

"Oh, shut up," Rodney grumbled.

John, as usual, didn't listen to him and just snorted that annoying laugh right in his ear.

***

Later, though, Rodney felt distinctly more inclined to discuss the topic, despite John's grumbles about getting some sleep. Because it was important, and he needed to get to the bottom of why John's semen tasted so much better than it had several weeks ago.

"I don't believe this," he said causing John to turn over and raise an eyebrow. "Come on, you've got to remember something? Think very hard! What have you eaten over the past two weeks?"

John gave him a tolerant look. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"What do you think?" Rodney huffed.

"Fine," John sighed, mouth quirking up at the corner. "I was in the infirmary for while, so I ate whatever crap they pretend to call food. Then, three days on MX3-619, where we just had basic rations mostly. Really, I swear that's it. Now, can I please get some sleep?"

Rodney stared at him, absolutely stunned. "So, basically you've been eating MREs and hospital food?" He couldn't believe he hadn't thought about that sooner!

"Good night, Rodney," John growled, before rolling over again.

Rodney settled back for the night, staring up at the ceiling with a happy little smile. Now, he had an entirely new set of menus to plan. MREs and hospital food: of course, it made perfect sense.

  
The End.

**Author's Note:**

> For reference purposes, this story was [inspired by the BBC](http://www.bbc.co.uk/sn/humanbody/truthaboutfood/sexy/spermtaste.shtml), with a few [simple tips from this guy](http://ezinearticles.com/?Sperm-Taste---10-Simple-Tips-For-Better-Tasting-Semen&id=164106).


End file.
